Apollodoros
by AzrielEver
Summary: Apollodoros, called Dorian by his familiars, is a Greek boy from the island of Delos. He lived a normal life as his father's apprentice as a sculptor, until one day the god Apollo comes to claim him as his lover.
1. Prologue

**Note: This is one of my first stories. Please be gentle yet firm with the comments. I'm still not sure about this.**

**Warning: Yaoi and pederasty. If you don't like it, don't read it. If you don't know what pederasty is, look it up.**

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Our story begins with one artist's sin, the sin of pride.

_Once on the island of Delos in Mediterranean, there lived a man named Aristides. He was said to be a descendent of Pygmalion, the fabled sculptor whose creation was brought to life be the will of the gods. If Aristides was indeed his descendent, he proved himself worthy of his ancestry as a sculptor of marble. His masterpieces unlike any made in all of Greece, maybe even the world. But like his ancestor, he had a flaw as all humans do. He despised the women of his city for all their imperfections and never found a woman that met his standards to marry. And he was determined to point out all their flaws. But as is a man's duty to his family, he needed to produce an heir, a son to carry on his line. Time passed and Aristides grew worried. He didn't dare embarrass himself by admitting his need to produce a son and didn't dare produce one naturally for fear that the woman's imperfection might afflict his son. He tried adoption as was common among sonless men, but no one was good enough. He wanted a son perfect in his eyes. Aristides was at a lost. He didn't know what to do. He was young, prideful, a perfectionist. He was unable to produce a son; he was a disgrace to his ancestors. Then a solution was found. His ancestor._

_His ancestor pleaded with the goddess Aphrodite to bring a marble statue of a woman on the goddess' holy day. If a god can bring a statue of a woman to life, could an image of the perfect son be animated? A statue took months to perfect, but in a few months, the city of Delos would hold the festival of Delia in honor of its patron god Apollo. What is more was that, being the best sculptor of the city, Aristides made many statues for the city's temple, which would put him in the god's favor. He had a plan._

_For months, he worked, pouring his heart and soul into this statue, carefully chiseling the statue's handsome features. On the day before Delia, the statue was finished. It was time to put his plan into play. On the day of Delia, the festivities took place, the gymnastic and musical contests, the choruses and dances. All were held in honor of Apollo. At nightfall, Aristides' plan was set in motion. He had his workshop decorated and a sacrificial tripod brought to the center in front of the statue. He made an offering to the honored deity and cried out for the god's help. Then Apollo came._

_He was everything a god should look like and more. The Bright One demanded to know why he had been summoned, as was required of a being of his status. Aristides brought his plea to the god and showed him the statue. The statue was of a young boy, face carved in an expression of innocence and hair cropped short with curls. He was the most beautiful thing ever carved. Aristides glanced over at Apollo and was shocked at the look on Apollo's face. The sculptor did his work too well. Apollo was struck by the statue's beauty; he was in love with the stone child, much like Aphrodite fell in love with Adonis while he was an infant. Apollo wanted to possess this specimen. Aristides argued that it was wrong to take his son away before he even got a chance to know him. Apollo fell silent. Aristides was afraid he offended the god and expected death. Instead, Apollo made a deal. Aristides could have his so… for now. He can have his son until the boy grew old enough to attract an erastes__1__, as was common among many Greek boys. Then, Apollo would take the boy as his beloved and protégé to his palace in the east. Then, when the boy came of age, he can decide whether to go back home or stay with him. _

_Aristides was torn apart. If he agreed to Apollo's conditions, he would only have his son for a short time. And there was a chance he may never return. He could try to appeal to another god, but that might offend Apollo. The worse thing to do was offend a god. And what if he got the same reaction with another go? He couldn't deal with two amorous deities. Why did he have to make his statue so perfect? Aristides came to a decision, he would agree to the god's terms. _

_Apollo was delighted to say the least. He snapped his fingers and disappeared in a flash of bright light. Aristides glanced at his new son. If the child was beautiful as a statue, he was even more stunning alive. There before him stood a child of five years of age, his curly hair black as a raven, skin the olive tone one got from living in a Mediterranean climate. The child's closed eyes fluttered open and Aristides saw in his eyes a trace of the Bright One's power still glowing in his golden eyes. This was the man's only reminder of his deal, filling him with regret at the lack of time he had left with his son. Aristides will dread the day his son will grow old enough to attract a lover._

_He named the boy Apollodoros. It means "gift of Apollo", for his life was the god's gift to him, forever binding him to the Immortal, whether the boy knew it or not…._

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**This is, as the marker says, just the prologue. From here, I have the whole plot in my mind, but I'll only continue if I get any good appeal to this story. So please, review and be gentle, I'm really unsure about this story. Again, I can't make it anymore clearer; this story has pederasty in it. Don't like it, then please don't read it and don't review. By the way, the word **_**erastes, or erastae**_** in plural, is a Greek term for the older lover in a Greek pederastic relationship. The young boy was referred to as the **_**eromenos,**_** or **_**eromenoi **_**in plural. Please remember this for later reference.**


	2. Chapter 1

**Sorry guys for the long wait. Whole bunch of stuff happened. Don't even wanna say it.**

**Here's you long awaited continuation of the Apollodoros Drama.**

**Warning: Contains mature themes. You may not agree with everything.**

_Come back, Dorian. _My father's voice echoed in my head. _Apollodoros, you come back here._ Whenever my father called me by my full name, it was always serious.

I don't understand any of it. I was coming home from my studies in the academy, followed by Philo, a servant who supervised me. I was stopped by my friend, Euclid at the square. Philo stepped aside, watching me distantly. We spoke trivial matters until a man walked up to me.

"Greetings, sweet youth," he serenaded, "Beautiful youth. Would you accompany me for a walk?" Knowing what is expected of me and from my father, I was about to politely decline his offer when Philo swooped in and carried me away. I struggled and squirmed, but his grip would not fail. Then we went straight to my house and my father threw a fit.

"What do you think you were doing," he roared. "Do you know what he could have done? Foolhardy, as always. Why me, gods in Olympus above, why me?" I was about to reply that I would have declined his offer, it was what was expected of me, but the old man would not stop. I couldn't take it anymore. I ran out the door and didn't look back, ignoring my father's calls.

Now I was here in a garden a while away from my house. I savored this bit of paradise in the city of Delos. I would come home later, I always did, and I was sure to receive a horde of beatings for running. But I needed to calm my nerves. Sometimes my father was too much. After all, I never had a mother. From the start, I knew Aristides never sired me, that I was adopted from a family that was only too happy to be rid of me. Of course, I was born on the island, a citizen of Delos, son of the acclaimed artist Aristides of Delos. And from the beginning, I was expected to live up to my father's image.

My lessons consisted of the usual natural sciences, rhetoric, sophistry, geometry, and astronomy, all lessons offered to youths my age from wealthy families like my father. But I was also expected to follow his footsteps as an artist. My skills in marble sculpture, his signature profession, were not satisfactory. Of course I was only an amateur yet he pushed for perfection. My skills in music were less encouraging and pottery was out of the question.

My best seemed to be in athletics. I am only fourteen years of age but already I outrun boys two years my senior. And my skills at discus are promising as well. Yet this was not enough for my father. _Focus less on the body and more on the mind_. I was expected to excel in all my lessons. And worse, my father was competitive. If another boy was my better in rhetoric, I wasn't trying hard enough. My shortcomings in music where others excelled were the result of laziness.

Worse yet was other men. Greeks are infamous in the known world for our acceptance of homosexuality, of the love between two men. Barbarians all over criticize our practice of pederasty, the relationship between an adult man and a boy. Don't let the term "boy" fool you. These "boys" were as young as fourteen and as old as eighteen. We could hardly be called children, given that we experience the changes of sexual maturity and can make many adult decisions. Almost every man, those married or bachelors, fathers and childless, was part of a pederast relationship, either as the suitor, called the erastes, or as the beloved, or eromenos. It was a part of growing up in Greece.

To the defense of my people's customs, I must explain the circumstances of these relationships. Yes they were of a romantic nature and quite often they took on a sexual form. But there were laws that protected the youth from being exploited. Certain boundaries couldn't be crossed. And besides the sexual aspect, the relationship has a more practical purpose. The erastes, the suitor, was more than a lover, he was also a mentor. He taught his eromenos, his beloved, how to be a part of community life. He taught him how to take part in politics, how to deal with law, all the social taboos of our culture. And if the man was skilled in a profession or art, the beloved could serve as an apprentice. These relationships were needed to be functioning members of society.

My father knows full well the purpose of these relationships. He knew the benefits of it. He knew full well I knew what was expected of me. Like a maiden, I couldn't just give in to any suitor. I had to be discrete, prudent, and conscientious. I wouldn't sell myself cheaply like a common whore. Like any other son of a wealthy artisan, I would only choose the best. By denying me the freedom to be in a relationship, my father was holding me back. Yet, my father will not hear or speak of it. He's not just frightened of male attention of the sexual kind but any male attention. He has Philo watch my teacher, Hermogenes, carefully in case the relationship even hinted at something more than mentor and student. My father had taken me out of three schools already for such suspicions. He even watches the servants to make sure no secret fraternizations took place under his own roof. Like I would dare choose a slave as a lover. His paranoia is ridiculous.

But so deep was I in my thoughts that I didn't notice the man next to me.

"Excuse me, are you well," asked a melodious voice. I turned and saw the most beautiful young man. He was tall and fit, in top condition. An athlete perhaps. Had to be so, his skin was browned by regular exposure to sunlight. His curly hair was a golden color, like sunlight. An aristocratic nose and sensual lips defined his face as well as angular features. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, although it could be the goatee on his chin. Most awe-inspiring were his eyes. They were sharp in shape, almost piercing like one who could see all, yet his brown eyes and crow's feet wrinkles suggested a warm person who smiled a lot. Absolute perfection.

So awestruck was I that I forgotten how to speak and stared like an idiot. But this man, apparently used to his impact on people chuckled. I almost melted. Then he reached out and placed a hand on my shoulders. I woke from my trance and babbled like a fool. Finally I collected myself.

"Yes, I am well." The stranger chuckled.

"Thank goodness. For a while I thought I had to seek help for you." We both chuckled at the statement, I did so nervously.

"Dear youth, do you know of an Aristides of Delos?" There was a subtle tone to his question, almost like he was playing with me.

"I do know so, he is my father," I answered, proud for once of my famous father. The man smiled, it was a smile that had all the warmth of the sun.

"How delightful, I have come from far to meet with your father. I am a client wishing to make business with him. Could you take me to him? It's getting late already."

**Note: Finally after all this time. Sorry for the delay. Few words before the flames. No, I don't support pederasty, or any form of pedophilia. I do support homosexual relationships and thought that such a theme would be interesting to write about. I know I am a procrastinator. And I don't answer comments often although I like to read them. That I all.**


	3. Chapter 2

**Thanks for staying with me.**

**Warning: Yaoi, Slash, Boy on Boy. And it features a relationship between an underaged boy and a man. Keep in mind; this was another time and place. Don't report me.**

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It hadn't occurred to me the lateness of the hour. I had left my house at late afternoon. Now the sun was touching the sea and painting the skies pink and orange. I was late!

The stranger must have seen my distress.

"Worry not, youth. I can explain this to your father. Simply say you were helping out a client of his." Relief filled me. My father couldn't find fault in helping potential business.

"Follow me," I replied and we made our way to my house.

As we walked the streets, we did receive the odd knowing stare. A strange man, especially one as attractive as my companion, would receive a lot of attention. Another noticeable detail was his company of a youth like me, who obviously wasn't his son or even related. It also didn't escape notice that they were together without the usual servant or relative to make sure the boy wasn't taken advantage of. I wasn't the least bit bothered. After all, we weren't in a relationship. Still, I couldn't help looking at the floor and blushing slightly. The stranger looked onwards with a slight smile.

When we had reached my house, the sun had already set and the oranges and roses were replaced by indigoes and blues. The lights to the house were lit and I saw a figure at the window slink away. The door opened and my father walked out in a rage.

"Dorian, what do you think you are doing! Who…." Then he froze. His infuriated red face turned sallow and hallow with terror. He had an odd expression I couldn't find a reason for. Recognition?

"I see," he said. "Dorian, who is this man, I may ask?"

"He says he's a client of yours. He wishes to make a request…."

"Yes, yes, I know," he interrupted. "We've met before. What I mean is do you even know his name?" His face turned hard with contempt. I blushed and looked down, feeling like an idiot for the third time this day. In all the excitement of meeting the stranger, I forgot to ask for his own name.

"No," I admitted. I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up to my right. The stranger met my gaze and gave me a reassuring smile.

"My name is Phoebus," he said. Phoebus? Meaning "the bright one"? It did fit his nature, so light-hearted and warm. Phoebus stepped forward.

"Aristides, I come with a request for your skills as a sculptor. I am interested in a statue of the great god Apollo. I believe you once specialized in making his image for the temples. After all, he is patron of the arts," Phoebus said with a smile. He said the last part in a joking tone, like something he knew secretly. I didn't liked being left in the dark but I couldn't bring myself to ask the man.

"Surely you didn't have to go through all the trouble of coming here," my father said.

"It is not problem from me," Phoebus said. "I like to make my requests in person. It allows me to oversee the entire process, add a little guidance and inspiration. Besides, I have people who take care of my business while I am away."

"And I suppose you want to stay here, under my roof," my father added.

"Would I be a nuisance," Phoebus asked.

This is always a tricky part. Obviously any unexpected guest was a problem but it was more so among my people. You see once a Greek man invites a guest into his house, the guest is treated with upmost hospitality. The guest is never denied anything. This has caused many complications in our legends and stories when a guest's unorthodox, or even immoral, requests had to be fulfilled. The reason behind such dedication by the host was that it was the will of the gods. The very King of them, Zeus, commanded that man show great kindness and hospitality to guests. To show cruelty and negligence to guests was to risking angering the gods. Of course, that doesn't mean we have to take in anyone. The head of the household still had the liberty to choice his guests but it was expected of him to take in those in need.

"No," My father answered. "You are welcome in my house, Phoebus." And so began the contract between host and guest.

Phoebus entered the house. Maybe my eyes were playing tricks but I swear the lamplights brightened a bit as he entered. I followed in his steps when my father reached out and grabbed my shoulder. He wore a stern expression on his face.

"We will speak of this later," he said before letting go.

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Sure enough, my father did speak with me later. Shouts filled the house, mainly from him. I'm sure the neighbors heard most of it. Aristides, known across Greece for his sculpture, was known across Delos for his nighttime shouting at his disobedient son. I was too old to be spanked, he told me, and it took all his control not to flog me back raw. I almost wished I was struck down; the physical pain would have been easier to bear than the humiliation of being talked down like a spoiled brat.

When he left my room, I waited for a while to pass. The lights went out and silence filled the night. I held in my tears as long as I could and only barely sobbed. I fell asleep with a pain and uneasiness in my heart.

That night, I had the oddest dream. I was laying in the moonlight, in a dream world of nothing. Then a golden figure appeared. It kneeled beside my bed, stroking my curly brown hair, whispering comforting words that I couldn't make out but understood. The figure left and I was comforted, drifting into peaceful sleep.

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The next morning, I met Phoebus in the kitchen. If he had heard the shouting last night, which I was sure of, he made no mention of it. A servant was warming bread and had a jug of water ready.

"Good morning, Dorian," he greeted. "Did you sleep well?" I had only the faintest recollection of my dream. All I knew was that I was granted a well rested night because of it.

"Yes, I did have a good night's rest. Thanks for asking." Phoebus smiled before biting a piece of bread. I couldn't place it but something about Phoebus makes you find him trustworthy. But my father had a favorite expression: Smooth surfaces hide deadly currents. He seemed to like saying this when I was greeted by interested men in the streets. But Phoebus was nothing like that. Right?

At this point, my father walked in.

"Ah, Aristides, just the man I wanted to speak to," Phoebus greeted. I watched them while eating bread with a few gulps of water in between.

"How long will my request take," Phoebus asked. My father pasted a smile on his face.

"I'll have to put aside a few projects, but I can shorten your time to a month," my father answered. I was astonished. Usually it took him two months for a good statue.

"Oh no, take your time," Phoebus said. "I plan to stay here in Delos for a while. I want to see the island for all its beauty. It's been a while since I was last here," he said the last part as if enjoying a private joke.

"In the meantime, I need someone to show me around." Then Phoebus looked at me as if just noticing I was there.

"So Dorian, what are planning today," Phoebus asked. I almost choked on my water. After making sure I was fine, Phoebus asked again.

"I have lessons in the late morning and training at the gymnasium at noon," I answered. Phoebus smiled.

"So you have a few hours extra," he asked.

"I'm sorry, but Dorian has to train in sculpting with me," my father interrupted. He had a look of protectiveness on his face. He looked at me, expecting compliance.

"I'm sure Dorian can skip one lesson with you today," Phoebus said with an encouraging look. I was stuck between two people I really wanted to please. Then I remembered last night's shouting.

"I'm sure I can spare the lesson for today," I answered. My father's expression was pricelessly livid.

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The rest of my morning was spent in a light-hearted daze. I had no idea what was discussed in my lessons but I'm sure it didn't hurt to be behind one day. My training in the gymnasium, however, improved greatly. I outran boys four years my senior, which crushed more than a few youths' prides.

My instructor was jubilant.

"You have the fine makings of an athlete, my boy," he beamed. "Maybe in four years you can enter the Olympics. Oh what a glorious victory it would be for Delos."

My skills in other activities improved as well. My intoxicating glee threw the discus a few yards farther. My javelin throw met an all new record for me. But a new tool caught my attention.

I saw a pair of youths, their bare bodies gleaming with sweat in the hot sun, practicing with bows and arrows.

"That weapon my boy, though useful and respectable, is hard to master," my instructor said. Still, I asked for a chance to try. I had difficulty notching the arrows, and my chest stretched painfully trying to pull the arrow back far enough. Being as young and small as I was, the bow wasn't a good match for me and I couldn't even fire the arrows. This sobered my otherwise euphoric mood, but I still looked forward to my tour with Phoebus. After all, I wanted to know more about him, there was a bond between us I felt even if I barely knew him. And it didn't bother me one bit.

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I left the gymnasium in joyous anticipation. I made my way quickly to my house. I had few friends to slow my progress, a father as intimidating as Aristides guaranteed that. A servant let me into the house and after a light lunch of olives, hard cheese, and bread, I found out from the cook that Phoebus and my father were at his workshop next door. I gave the cook my thanks and walked to the workshop. Before I knocked, I heard voices.

"…I won't let him do it," My father said. I stopped. I wasn't one to eavesdrop usually but something compelled me to listen quietly.

"You have to let him do this, that was part of the deal," Phoebus said. I listened with keen intent.

"I don't care, I'm not letting you take him from me," my father hissed.

"If he leaves with me, it'll be by his choice alone," Phoebus countered. "Besides, the boy only lives because _I _gave him life."

"Are you insinuating something," my father demanded.

"I'm just saying, I brought him into this world and I can take him back." Who were they talking about? Suddenly I felt very vulnerable. I didn't want to risk discovery so I knocked. I heard hushes and my father answered the door.

"Ah, Dorian, I suppose it's time," he answered with distaste. He let me in and I saw the room. My father had a marble bust in the makings, with the beginnings of a beard. Light came from a window and showed drifting specks of dust in the air. On a bench to the side were various chisels and waxes with paints. On another bench was the man I wanted to see.

"Hello Dorian," Phoebus greeted. "How were your lessons?" I felt self-conscious of my fluttering attention this morning and felt my cheeks fill with blood.

"Oh… they were great. I found out dolphins give birth to live young," I scrambled. Phoebus smiled but had a knowing glint to his eyes, like he sensed my scattered attempt at lying. Still, he didn't question further.

"Are you ready to show me the city," Phoebus asked.

"Oh yes. I'll take you to the gymnasium. After all, the best of Athenian thinkers say the secret to a sharp mind is a strong body."

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**Sorry this was so short. I'll promise I'll make it up to you guys later. For now, stay in touch and send reviews.**


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